


I Get By (With a Little Help)

by rivlee



Series: OT3 'verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Made Families, Natasha likes surprise entraces and matchmaking, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been seven months since Bucky Barnes came back from the proverbial dead, and Sam's life is still full of surprises. (And not just the kind that come from Natasha Romanoff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Are you ever going back to your apartment?” Sam asked after the third straight Monday of Steve crashing at his place. 

He held Steve’s feet in his lap before he could jump up and mumble some apologetic bullshit about overstaying his welcome. “I’m not trying to kick you out or anything. You’re kind of the most perfect house guest ever and my countertops actually _shine_ now, but you do have that luxury apartment sitting empty.”

“I’ve never really lived alone,” Steve confessed. “Apparently even when I _did_ someone was listening. I just don’t think I can go back there.”

“We should at least get it cleaned out,” Sam said. “I’ve got space in the garage. There are empty drawers in my dresser waiting for you.”

Steve looked up from his crossword. “Is that how it is?”

“Oh, _that’s_ how it is,” Sam said. 

************

Sam loved waking up like this, before the alarm, with Steve tracing the tattoos on Sam’s left shoulder. After surviving his first tour, he came home and got the Pararescue insignia done. After his second, still stuck in mourning the loss of Riley and the confusing transition from military to civilian life, he got an exact replica of his wings. 

Steve always seemed mesmerized by the second tattoo. “It’s such amazing work,” he said that morning. “I wish I could see the original design.”

“Your buddy Stark’s company mass produced the final set of wing packs, but the original design belongs to this genius creator named Dr. T’Challa Charles. He worked with us through the testing phases, and when I came back, he hand drew the tattoo design for me and worked with the artist to ensure it was done to precision specifications.”

Steve’s eyes brightened like they always did when he learned something new about Sam. “That was awfully kind of him.”

Sam nodded. “Well, considering he married Monica a year ago, I think we’re even.” He rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and felt the pull of sleep again. “They’d like you. I’m sure I could get T’Challa to show you the blueprints.”

“I’d love that,” Steve said. He ran a finger over Sam’s brow. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk about it when you wake up again.”

************

“I decided to put a new flowerbox near the back patio,” Sam said the next Sunday morning as he flipped through sale fliers. “Any requests?"

“My mother always loved roses,” Steve said. 

“Mine too,” Sam said. “Color preferences?”

“If I said red, white, and blue would you kick me out of bed?” Steve asked.

Sam looked at Steve sprawled next to him, head turned toward the sun coming through the window, and sweat still drying on his body from their last bit of distraction.

“Nah, Rogers. Ain’t you fault they probably conditioned you to default to those three now,” Sam said. 

Steve rested his hands on Sam’s thigh and gave a quick squeeze. “The sad thing is my favorite color’s always been green.”

************

The day Sam came home to hear the house full of Steve’s laughter and the sounds of The Jackson 5’s _Rockin’ Robin_ on the tv, he knew there was no going back. Mama Wilson had gotten her talons in Steve Rogers, and Sam would just _have_ to marry him now.

“You’re so tiny and adorable,” Steve said as he pointed at the screen.

Sam straightened his shoulders with pride. He’d won his third grade talent contest with that dance routine, and he was fucking proud of it. So what if the red cowboy hat and boots weren’t exactly stylish for 1992, his mom wouldn’t let him wear overalls to look like a farmer, and he had to make do. 

“It took some time for my height to kick in,” Sam admitted. He dropped down next to Steve and shook his head as the video cut to his fourth grade talent show; fucking backward baseball jerseys and his attempt at a “cool” hairstyle. 

“Your mother stopped by with a whole crate,” Steve said. “I haven’t gone through the photo albums yet.” He looked at little stunned at the sheer amount. 

“Each Sunday we took a photo before church. My dad’s a minister,” he explained.

“I never knew that,” Steve said.

Sam shrugged. “Our relationships been strained over the years. We had our first falling out when I signed up. He had some violence is his life you know, between marching and Vietnam, and he didn’t want that for me. Said enough of our family already bled so I could have a better life, but I still felt like I had to do my part. My grandfather was a friggin’ Tuskegee Airman, and even though no one wanted me to live up to that sort of military legacy, I wanted to try.”

“And you became a Pararescue Jumper.”

Sam laughed bitterly at the memory. “Dad cried when he found out. Told me I was doing God’s work like a real guardian angel. I never really felt like I could tell him what I saw over there, what I did. Stupid, considering his own past. Momma was different though. She just told me I didn’t have permission to die.”

He didn’t realize how much he’d tensed up until Steve’s gentle hands settled on his own. Sam allowed himself to hold onto that strong grip for a moment as he pushed past the old memories and the fear. 

The moment was broken when _I Believe I Can Fly_ started to play and a teenaged Sam Wilson started to sing. 

“Seriously?” Steve asked.

“ _Space Jam_ is required viewing to understand American cultural history, Steve. It had an important impact on a whole generation.”

*************

“Is that—are you painting me birdhouses?” Sam asked as he got out of his car.

“More like a bird village,” Steve said from his chair in the garage. His hands and t-shirt were covered in paint, though he’d managed to keep it off his sweatpants. “Some of the birds might want a cottage as opposed to a house, you know? You’ve got so many of them; I figured they should have options.”

Sam kissed the top of Steve’s head. “You know the squirrels eat half the birdseed anyway, right?”

“Yeah, but now they have to _work_ for it,” Steve said. He got that frown on his face whenever he thought of bullies and unfair fights. “There’s got to be a way to keep them out.”

Sam left him to it and passed through the garage door into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and started to strip off his button down when he saw the living room table covered with files and a map. There were printed pictures from the internet and a hand-written code lying on top of a stack of printed want-ads.

“Son of a bitch. He found him.”

He stumbled back out to the garage.

“Did you forget how to take your clothes off? Because we just had a lesson last night,” Steve said.

“You found him,” Sam said.

Steve carefully placed his paintbrush in the empty pickle jar he was using and looked up at Sam. “I did,” he said.

“Then what the hell are you still doing here?”

“Painting our birdhouses,” Steve said. 

“But you _found_ him,” Sam said.

“I did. We had a nice lunch. He’s still trying to figure out who he is, whether or not he wants to be Bucky or James or Jimmy or J.B.”

Sam frowned. “No one wants to be J.B.”

“It doesn’t suit him,” Steve agreed. “He knows I’m here for him when he’s ready.”

“We have a guest room,” Sam said.

Steve looked surprised—touched, but surprised. He stood up and cupped Sam’s cheeks with his paint splattered hands. They were still warm, even if the garage itself was cold.

“Sam, you don’t have to do that. He tried to kill you when he was brainwashed.”

“Tried to kill you too. Hey, look, that’s one more thing we have in common. Shared life experiences, as Natasha told me.”

“Come here,” Steve said as he pulled Sam closer. He left trails of cardinal red on Sam’s bare skin. “Whoops. Guess we should lose the clothes before it gets any worse.”

“Smooth, Rogers,” Sam said, even as he let his shirt drop to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

“You need better locks.”

“Fuck,” Sam said. He flipped the lights on and glared at one James Buchannan Barnes. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

“Assassins don’t usually knock. It’s bad for business,” Bucky said. 

He’d cleaned up since the last time Sam saw him. Gone were the long, scraggly strands of hair and patch stubble. He looked so young, younger than Steve, even though Bucky had lived more years. He had an open beer beside him, but at least he’d managed to use a coaster. He looked… _tired_ , though he gave off an air of not giving one iota of a fuck. 

Even with that baby face, the lines around his eyes showed the strain of his existence, as if all the years had finally caught up to him. They had to, Sam realized, even if it’d only been seven months since he’d tried to kill Sam and a couple million people. Reliving a few different lifetimes and wars had to take a toll. 

“Sorry about that time I tried to kill you,” Bucky said as if he could read minds. “I’d like to say it wasn’t me, but I was a trained sniper before they took my arm and my mind.”

“And before that?” Sam asked. “Did you think about killing people before they put a gun in your hand and you learned to fight or die?”

Bucky’s head tilted to the side and he gave Sam a long, studying look. “What’re you some kind of shrink?”

“No, but I think you could use one.”

“I could use one hundred,” Bucky said. 

“I know a few,” Sam said.

Bucky didn’t ask for help, instead he sat back and sprawled out across Sam’s couch. “Even back then we knew the cops were corrupt and a whole system worked on the streets. I boosted a few cars for the neighborhood bosses, but other than that it was mostly legit work wherever I could get it. Needed to keep us both fed, but I had principles. I never took a life until the government told me I had to if I wanted to live.”

Sam had seen Vets from wars going back as far as the early days of World War II. He’d come from a military legacy of sort, and he’d volunteered at his local VA when he was in high school. He had a lifetime of his own experience, and knew men and women who could appear like they had it all together while inside it was brittle pieces barely holding strong. Bucky Barnes talked a good game, and Sam knew things about him that would never show up in textbooks, but it was still an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a goddamned metal arm with a body full of issues that sat on his couch right now and drank his beer.

Sam had to wonder why he picked _now_ of all times to appear.

“You know Steve’s not here, right?”

Something flickered across Bucky’s face, but it wasn’t disappointment or fear. “No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

“I can call him if you want?” Sam offered. 

“He’s going to be busy for a while,” Bucky said with a small shrug.

Sam smelled bullshit. “How could you possibly know that?”

Bucky’s smile was a sharp, dangerous thing. “There are those who think I’m still loyal. Someone has to get the rats to run out of the sewers. Might as well be me.”

Sam was reminded in that moment how extraordinary and resilient a man Bucky Barnes really was to be sitting there. He was a kid who got thrown into a war, was tortured and survived where hundreds others had died, recovered form that, only to survive a fall that would’ve killed most people, and then sixty odd years full of technological experiments with cryogenics, brain wiping, and a friggin’ robotic arm later to come out the other side to sit on Sam’s couch and have the presence of mind to use a fucking _coaster_ , all while also taking down those who had done this to him. It seemed too improbable to be real, so he had to ask. 

“How do I know you really aren’t still playing Hydra’s long game?”

“You’d be dead right now,” he said. 

“Funny,” Sam said, even though he knew in his gut it was true.

“We know I’m not lying. If I wanted to make it look natural to throw the authorities off, I’d just tinker with your carbon monoxide detectors. Some people prefer poison, but that’s just pretentious bullshit if you ask me.”

“You prefer a gun.” That wasn’t a surprise for the kid the US Army had made a sniper.

“We’re all one bullet away from death, Wilson.”

Sam needed to show the smartass a sign of trust if this was going to get anywhere past self-deprecating jabs and one-liners. He turned his back and walked into the kitchen, gave Bucky the chance to take the shot, and hoped for Steve and Bucky’s sake he wouldn’t. He returned to the living room and was met with a cocky smile and a raised brow.

“Proof enough?” Bucky asked. 

Sam wasn’t sold yet. “Look, I hate to ask if you’re just mimicking what you observed over the last few months or if this is really you, albeit the constant vigilance-constantly alert side.”

“I think you just did anyway.” Bucky ran a hand through his short hair. “Honestly, Wilson, I don’t know. I’m just trying to keep to an even keel.”

“Just keep swimming,” Sam said.

Bucky’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Just keep swimming. It’s from this movie called _Finding Nemo_. My nieces were obsessed with it before _The Princess and the Frog_ came out, and then it was jazz classes and cooking lessons. Then _Brave_ arrived and they all wanted bow and arrows. Now it’s _Frozen_ and every time Steve tries to get away while they’re over, they stand on the other side of the door and ask if he wants to build a snowman.” Sam grinned at the memory. “It’s kind of cute, actually. I filmed it for Natasha the last time it happened.”

“I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about,” Bucky said. He grimaced for a moment and froze.

Sam sniffed the air and got a whiff of that scent that immediately took him back to a warzone. “Are you bleeding on my couch right now?”

“I put a towel down,” Bucky said.

“Lucky me. I get the home invader with manners.”

“Yeah you do,” Bucky said with the hint of an actual smile.

Sam sat down beside him and turned the tv on. “Have any feelings on movie musicals?”

Bucky frowned. “Am I supposed to?”

“We’ll watch a little _Singin’ in the Rain_ , and then maybe you’ll let me check out whatever’s bleeding, okay? I got a few suture kits in the place if we need them.”

“You’re not going to make me go to the hospital?”

Sam couldn’t even guess how much the metal arm weighed alone, not even accounting for full body weight and trying to fight a wounded, trained assassin. “Not worth the trouble of press or Hydra or SHIELD or my tin-hat wearing neighbor Bob following us if I try to wrestle you out of here.” He pulled up the DVR list Natasha had made one Saturday afternoon for Steve. “Maybe if you like this one, we’ll watch something that doesn’t qualify for its own AARP card.”

Bucky nodded. “Whatever you say, Wilson. I stole mine out of Pierce’s house. I needed some cash and he always kept it in his cookie jar. I had to throw some bleach around anyway to throw off any possible DNA evidence of my own before someone found the body in the foyer.”

“What body?” Sam asked. 

Bucky just shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be drinking milk again for a while.”

Sam didn’t have a comeback for that one, didn’t even know if Bucky was in the here and now, so he just pushed play and hoped Bucky would let him help before he needed a transfusion.

************

“He’s sitting on our couch,” Sam told Steve that night as he got ready for bed. “He used your toothbrush.”

“We’ve shared worse,” Steve said. He made a sound of frustration. “I can’t leave New York yet. There are so many cells and splinter groups of those cells here, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam said. “I’ve heard as much.” He hated not being there to watch Steve’s back. Someone needed to pull his ass out of the fire. “I’m glad Natasha’s got your six.”

“We have a few friends here, still loyal, and against Hydra.” Sam took a deep breath. “I know it’s a lot to ask but Sam—”

“I got everything handled here,” he interrupted Steve. “Just come home, okay? Don’t make me weep over you, Rogers. I look ugly when I cry.”

“You look stoic and handsome,” Steve corrected.

“Don’t flatter me when you’re not here for me to do anything about it,” Sam said. “Bed’s cold.”

“Tony only has the highest quality mattresses in the Tower. It’s all memory foam and I’m honestly getting a better night’s sleep on the floor.”

“So much for the lap of luxury,” Sam said. He knew he had to get to sleep soon, but he wasn’t quite ready to let go of Steve just yet. “So what’s this tower like? Still think it’s ugly as sin?”

“Give me the Flatiron building any day,” Steve said. “I love what it represents, but it’s still ugly.”

“I guess all that matter is what’s inside,” Sam said.

“While true for humans, I’m going to have to disagree on lack of artistic merit. It’s the New York City skyline and it’s just _there_.”

Sam wondered how long it would take to get Steve from mildly annoyed to outright artistic rage. He looked at the clock and started timing it. 

************

Bucky didn’t sleep. He paced the house at night, checking the locks on windows and doors, before settling back in the living room. Sam kept his bedroom door opened and watched as Bucky continued in his self-appointed hourly patrols. He’d grown used to the sounds of Steve rummaging through the house at night, but Bucky had a different tread. Sam finally gave up around five and rolled out of bed. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and made enough noise for Bucky to know he was about to pass into his line of vision. 

“When’s the last time you had a home cooked meal?” Sam asked.

Bucky frowned and bit his lip in an obvious unconscious habit of concentration. “Must’ve been Brooklyn back in 1943.”

“Well, I hope you’re hungry,” Sam said as he headed into the kitchen and pulled down the Bisquick. “If I’m up this early to cook, you better bring your appetite to my table.”

An hour later Natasha walked into his home as if she owned it, not bothering to knock, and sat down across from Barnes. Bucky froze with a fork of eggs to his mouth and Sam wondered if he should tell him about that mustache the chocolate milk had left.

“I remember the days when I felt like my home was a private place,” he said instead. “It was just yesterday before my house was broken into twice in twenty-four hour period.”

“That you know of,” Bucky said. “I’m serious about those locks.”

“Be thankful I used the door and not the ceiling,” Natasha said. “Are you making eggs Benedict Arnold?”

“Political jokes,” Sam said. “Now, that’s just hot.”

“You should be with Steve,” Bucky said to her.

“You have milk on your face and yolk on your cheek,” Natasha said. “I finished my part of the job and he sent me home because the press was descending. Who knew _that_ many New York law firms had ties to Hydra?”

“Lawyers,” Sam said. He pulled a plate down for Natasha. “Last night it sounded like it’d take weeks. Did he say how long he was going to be?”

“Steve has a lot more to do, and is determined to clean out all the nests. He also wanted to spend some time talking to Barton about the best compound bows for young girls.” Natasha’s gaze flicked up to Sam. “Something about getting in good with Alia.”

“She said she wanted to pursue it as an actual sport, but I didn’t think she was serious,” Sam said. “Fuck, my sister’s going to kill me.”

“Maybe it’s just a passing obsession like those tiny plastic pony things,” Bucky said. 

Sam ran a hand over his face. “The Winter Soldier is eating breakfast at my table and talking about My Little Ponies.”

“And you’ve fucked Captain America in your bed,” Natasha said. “Maybe work on Barnes here and you can have a matched set.”

Sam wanted to believe she was joking, but the twist of her lips said she most definitely was not. He wondered how much troubled he’d be in if he deliberately burned her bacon. 

“Only if Steve says it’s okay,” Bucky said. 

Sam hadn’t had enough coffee yet to deal with this bullshit. 

***********

A week later the bed dipped and woke Sam up from his sleep. Bucky sat beside him, head bowed and fists clenched. Sam didn’t touch him, didn’t try to soothe him, he just sat up and let Bucky know he was there to listen.

“Sorry,” Bucky said.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Sam said. He patted the space beside him. “Come on. I have it on good authority my pillows are awesome.”

Bucky didn’t laugh at the joke, but he did kick off his boots and swing his legs onto the bed. “I feel asleep on the couch,” he said.

“That a bad thing?” Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head. “It’s not that, I just drifted you know? I got to think. They told me my missions were to protect the world. Everything I did was for the greater good, to protect freedom, to help save everyone from the next big evil. I trusted my Commanding Officer, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. I trusted my CO because something always told me to, that the pain was part of the process, a small cost to keep the world safe. It’s not just the blood on my hands and the shit I’ve been through that I have to deal with—ain’t like that would’ve been any different from what it was seventy years ago in Europe. It’s trying to cope with sixty odd years of instinctively believing one thing and finding out that one kernel of truth they let me keep was bullshit.”

“Maybe they couldn’t get you to comply any other way,” Sam offered. “One fight on one street with Steve and that broke through the mind wipe twice. It left a residual, didn’t it?”

Bucky nodded. “The wipe didn’t work that last time, not really. I remembered that—that I _knew_ him. I didn’t know how or why, just that I did. They never could take away some of the things I learned over the years. It was a deliberate process, what they targeted in my head. I got to keep my skills; my languages; my fight responses; my tactical side. They let me keep pain, and it hurt that I remembered him.”

He looked up at Sam then. “Pierce tried to be gentle with me. He made me feel like my work was something to be proud of. He made me feel like I was worth something. I know what he did to me, and our whole fucking world, but part of me still misses a sense of that, you know?”

“Emotions are complicated,” Sam said. “Don’t think that yours are invalid. You are allowed to feel what you feel, Bucky, and that doesn’t make it wrong. He showed you a kindness and used it to punish you. He completely mindfucked you. That doesn’t just go away because you’ve remembered who you are.”

Bucky’s hands unclenched and he laid them out flat on the bed. “I wish I could laugh again without it feeling like I’ve swallowed shards of glass. I remember laughing, but I don’t remember how it feels. _Really_ feels.”

“We’ll have to try and do something about that,” Sam said. 

“The world loves Steve and Captain America,” Bucky said instead. “I don’t think they’d ever accept me being alive. Bucky Barnes has to stay dead for the story to keep its legend, right? They can’t handle me becoming the Winter Soldier.”

“Fuck the world,” Sam said. “I want you here. Steve wants you here. Natasha wants you here. If they don’t want James Buchanan Barnes as he is now, then they don’t get to have him.” 

“Sir, yes, sir,” Bucky said.


	3. Chapter 3

It turned out Bucky liked slapstick comedies. He spent two weeks making his own version of a vengeance/conspiracy board in Sam’s garage while also going through his dvd collection. 

_Friday_ , _Stripes_ , and _Airplane!_ remained his favorites. He loved _Caddyshack_ and Natasha bought him a dancing gopher. He also loved gangster movies, and didn’t criticize the accents, clothing, or set dressing choices the way Steve did. It was great to finally watch _A Bronx Tale_ with someone who didn’t take every two seconds to say _now, that’s just impossible_. Sam couldn’t wait to watch _Scarface_ absent Steve’s constant eye-rolling and questions about guns never running out of bullets. 

Steve still hadn’t returned yet, even though Natasha had been a steady presence in their house. Sam talked to Steve at least once a day, and he’d even passed the phone to Bucky a few times, but Steve still had yet to come back home. 

Sam waited a month to call Steve out on his bullshit. He had no doubt Captain American was neck-deep in SHIELD fall-out, but Steve Rogers still had friends in very high places and could afford an afternoon away to come back home and talk to his best friend of an actual century. He knew Steve had work to do, but there would _always_ be another fight, and Captain America needed to learn to be a little selfish for Steve Rogers’ sake.

“Don’t make me give you a lecture on avoidance,” Sam said. “I’ll do it. You know I will. Natasha’s already offered to design the PowerPoint.”

“He sounds like he’s doing better. I just don’t want to fuck that up,” Steve said.

Sam whistled low. Steve had to be frustrated to let out an F-bomb outside the comfort of a physical fight. Still, that attitude wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Think mighty high of yourself, don’t you?”

“I’ve lost him twice, Sam.”

Sam loved he man, he really did, but he was a fucking idiot sometimes. “And he showed up on our doorstep on his own. Yeah, he sent you to crack some Hydra skulls with that shield of yours—and I’m as much a fan of that metaphor as anybody—but don’t you think he might’ve done that more for your sake than his own?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Way I’ve heard it, you never back down from a fight,” Sam said. “And you like getting punched. Bucky told me that. Not at night, when he crawls into our bed because the memories mean he can’t even fake sleep. Not during one of those moments when he just freezes while his mind decides who he’s allowed to be in that moment. He didn’t tell me that out of fear of loss, but out of pride. He’s so proud of you, Steve. And when he’s got his bare feet covered in that Kentucky Blue you planted out back, he tips his head back in the sunlight and talks until his voices gives out. You should be here to see that is all I’m saying.”

“I’ll try,” Steve promised.

“You better,” Sam said. “Because I love you, Steve, but I will fuck your shit up in a way only I can if he regresses in his progress because he thinks you’re ashamed of him.”

Not even twenty minutes later Bucky was on the phone Natasha had bought for him. He was animatedly talking to the other person on the line while scrolling through _Cracked_ on Sam’s laptop.

“No, Steve, they have a whole _Top Five Times the Howling Commandos Were More Awesome than the Terminator_ article. Have you _seen_ those movies? Dum-Dum would be so fucking proud.”

Sam leaned against the doorframe and took a moment to breathe. He had little doubt it would all be alright. Not easy of course, because the best things had to be worked for, but still alright.

*************

“You seriously have a hand that never quits,” Sam said as he watched Bucky work magic with a wrench.

“Why, Mr. Wilson, I never,” Bucky said with a high-pitched Southern-tinged falsetto.

Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe you watched all of _Gone with the Wind_.”

“Natasha’s convincing,” Bucky said. He made a grunt and frowned at the sink’s pipes. “What the hell happened in here?”

“Aisha stuffed all her Pretty Princess jewelry down it, like, five years ago. The pipes rusted after a few snowstorms, so I could never take it apart. I wasn’t about to hire a plumber either.”

“And Steve?”

“Yeah, you have a metal arm with precision action and he has shoulders that can’t fit in small spaces.”

“So, you just want me from my body, then?”

“I like seeing what you’re working with,” Sam said.

Bucky froze for a second and then his whole body started to shake as he laughed. He laid back, hair long enough again to fall in his eyes, and throat bared, and laughed, and laughed, until tears fell down his cheeks.

“My ribs hurt,” Bucky said. He gave Sam a soft punch as he sat up. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem, man,” Sam said. “Just making an honest assessment here. Now, get back to work.”

Bucky gave him the finger, but crouched down again without protest.

***********

Sam dreamed of taking Bucky apart with his mouth, covering every inch of flesh until there was nothing but desperate sounds and heavy breathing as those strong hands, one flesh and bone, the other shiny and metal, gripped his head, his shoulders, and dug into his back. 

It was far from the first time Sam’s had a sex dream about someone, but his current situation wasn’t all that normal. Part of him hoped one of the reasons Steve stayed away was because he wanted this to happen, part of him feared Steve just doesn’t know how to let Sam down gently so he’ was waiting to see if it happened organically, and the rest of him just sort of panicked.

Natasha was the one to put his head back together.

“Why are you freaking out? It can’t be the guy thing.”

“I’m in a relationship,” Sam said. “One I kind of don’t want to fuck up.”

“Who says you will? Unless you think you’re a stand-in.” She smirked at his frown. “You’re not the only one who can read people. You’re wrong, by the way. Steve loves you; Bucky too.”

“They love each other. They _know_ each other. How do I compete with that?”

“They _knew_ each other,” Natasha corrected. “And you don’t have to compete. They’re both kind of stupid in love with you. In case you haven’t noticed the way they both treat you like some kind of true north. Look, Wilson, Bucky isn’t the man Steve once knew, and the same can be said for Steve himself. Bucky doesn’t know this new Steve either, but they both know _you_. They’re still learning each other again, and that’s terrifying on its own, but I can guarantee the one thing that doesn’t scare them is building a life together with you.”

The next day Sam found a hand-drawn pamphlet in his office entitled _Polyamory and You_.

************

Summer came with heavy, muggy heat, and Sam and Bucky met it sprawled out in their shorts on the floor watching patriotic films all through Memorial Day.

“The next time an alien invasion comes to Earth, I will give you $50 to do that,” Bucky said as he pointed to the screen.

They were on _Independence Day_ for the fifth time in two days and Will Smith had just greeted an alien with a _Welcome to Earth_ and a punch. 

“Your arm would be more effective,” Sam said.

“Yeah, but I’m the strong and silent type,” Bucky said. “I don’t know if I could pull off the one-liner.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think you’re _ever_ going to have a problem being a smartass, Barnes.”

“Eh, fuck you,” Bucky said. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of the alien being dragged through the desert. “That brings up some oddly specific memories.”

“Please don’t tell me Roswell is a real thing,” Sam said.

“Roswell is just the cover up,” Natasha said.

One day Sam would learn to stop flinching at her surprise, silent entrances. 

“Pass the popcorn,” she ordered. 

**************

After that first night he’d snuck into the bedroom, Bucky had taken to sleeping in Sam and Steve’s bed. It was all about comfort and the reassurance of having a warm body there, and Sam would be a liar if he said he didn’t appreciate it for his own reasons. 

He never told Natasha, but he knew she knew, especially when she showed up one day with a handful of furniture catalogs. 

“You’re going to need an extra-large bed once Steve finally drags his ass home.” She held up a hand before he could gripe at her. “Even if it’s just a friendship and comfort thing, Steve’s never going to let Bucky sleep alone again if he doesn’t want to do so.”

Sam put his hand out. “Hit me.”

Natasha nodded. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

**************

“I’m, pretty sure I’ve dreamt this once or twice.”

Sam lifted his head from his pillow to see Steve in the doorway. Bucky was curled into Sam’s side, deep asleep after returning from what was an intense therapy session. His metal arm was heavy across Sam’s chest, but he didn’t dare move it now that Bucky was finally, truly asleep. 

“Mission accomplished?” Sam asked.

A small blush stained Steve’s cheeks. “In more ways than one. I’m going to shower and then call Nat.”

“You’re going to shower, get in this bed, sleep for at least two hours, and _then_ you’ll call Nat. That’s me telling you kindly, and it won’t be repeated, because you’re not working on your fucking birthday. Your timing sucks, by the way. At least you’re home in time for cake. Now go shower.”

“Enlisted ordering around an officer. Pretty sure that’s a court martial worthy offense,” Steve said, but the smile on his face was genuine. 

“Good thing the two enlisted in this room are former-military and honestly couldn’t give a fuck,” Sam said. 

“What he said,” Bucky murmured. He blinked owlishly up at Sam. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Sam said. “We have company.”

Bucky lifted his head and peered over Sam’s shoulder. “About damn time. I sent you after one group of Hydra assholes. I didn’t say try and clear out the entire tri-state area, what the actual fuck, Rogers?”

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve said. “You look good.”

Bucky looked at Sam and tilted his head at Steve. “Can you believe this guy?”

Sam laughed just to see that crooked smile spread across Bucky’s face. “You have to admit he has his uses.”

“You know, he was an impatient little shit as a kid. I wonder how long it’ll take him to blow if we just pretend he’s not there.”

Sam knew Bucky and Steve had built a friendship on busting each other’s balls while being each other’s constant. He knew even more how much it meant to Bucky—and to Steve—to have a moment like this back. It seemed impossible through the gaping yawn of seventy years and brainwashing and programming. Sam wasn’t about to take it from them, and it wasn’t really the time for a serious talk. 

He laid back fully, took Bucky with him, and smiled. “So, come here often?”

***************

Bucky never trained with Sam outside of jogging and some weight lifting. He didn’t trust himself not to hurt somebody who couldn’t take the impact of his metal arm or the muscle memory so ingrained into his body. Bucky didn’t know how to pull his punches. He’d been fighting for almost a century, and even when his memories were stolen from him, his body knew how to defend itself and how to win. Sam was never insulted by the fact that Bucky did it to spare him. He’d broken his own ribs enough times to know he never wanted to again.

Watching Bucky and Steve spar was like a swift, violent dance. They didn’t speak, and yet anticipated each other’s moves. It was constant fluidity and two sides of the same coin moving as one. Steve had held back during the first three rounds, but after Bucky laid him out and goaded him on, he’d finally thrown his weight into it. 

It was breathtaking to watch.

“Getting a little uncomfortable there, Sam?” Natasha asked. 

He knew the doors to training floor were locked and that they’d never opened. He looked around and tried to guess how Natasha snuck inside.

“You’ll never figure it out,” she said. “How are they doing?”

“Lots of late night conversations. Lots of confessions of fears. Steve’s turned Bucky onto the idea of putting a fairy garden in with the birdhouses.”

“And how’s that bed situation working out?”

“You were right,” Sam admitted. “I’m glad we have a large one. One of us would’ve rolled off the bed by now.”

Natasha nodded. “So, how’s the sex?”

Sam choked on his sip of water and glared at her. “You’re better than that.”

Natasha shrugged. “Even I like to take the easy shots when it’s the perfect opportunity. Still haven’t kissed Bucky yet?”

“Steve and I need to discuss any and all possibilities. If we come to an agreement, and _if_ Bucky is ready for something more than friendship, we’ll discuss it then.” 

“And what if one of the reasons Steve stayed away so long was that he was worried. Because the second he heard from me that Bucky remembered and had come home to _you_ , the possibility of you three making happy families is all he could think about and he didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough. Or maybe it’s that he didn’t want to push you away to go after someone else who leads a much less complicated life?”

“That’s bullshit.”

Natasha ignored him and continued on. “And what if Bucky—who waited to seek you two out until he’d put enough parts of himself back together, because he had to do it on his own to trust it as a truth—arrived with the hope of just making friends with you, and instead has spent more than one ice-cream fueled confession session lamenting over how much he wants to have the both of you as close as possible? What then, Sam Wilson, the most popular belle of the ball?”

Sam focused on the two men fighting at the mat again. He noticed how their eyes both lingered over to him then went back to each other. He thought of what it meant to be children of the Depression era, to be soldiers forced to fight and carry on mantles long post what should’ve been their end of service date. He thought about whole human lifetimes of learning to cope without and surviving on just enough. He thought about how short he knew life could be, and how he promised the ghost of Riley, and himself, that he’d stop overthinking the things that made him feel alive. 

He passed his water bottle over to Natasha. “Ms. Romanoff, if you would.”

She lightly punched him in the shoulder. “Go get ‘em, ace.”

************

Steve’s kisses were familiar, yet always tinged with some sort of desperation that he’d never get to feel this way again. It always felt like he forgot himself in these moments; forgot that he no longer had a skinny frame and tiny arms, rather than a whole body that could—and did—knock people down with his enthusiasm. He was always extra careful after that inevitability, and it took hours of coaxing to get him to drop the soft, gentle, hold, but it was so worth it when he finally let go. 

Bucky kissed with vengeance and hunger. He kissed like the man he was, one who had seen kindness weaponized and come crawling out of the dark one bloodstained inch at a time. He liked to bite, to hear the sounds of his partner’s pleasure, to feel the tensing and shaking of muscles as he laughed and soothed, and murmured low. He was dangerous and playful, and Sam wondered how a man kept on ice that long could still kiss like _that_.

“Jesus,” Steve breathed into Sam’s ear. 

Sam already had one hand tangled in the strands of Bucky’s hair, but he moved the other that was digging into Steve’s thigh to cup his face, and rest a thumb against his lips. If Steve started in on his blasphemous litany that always meant he was about to come, Sam would follow way too quickly. 

He wanted to savor this moment.

He smiled into Bucky’s kiss as Steve nipped his finger and Bucky suddenly groaned. Sam opened his eyes to see just where Steve’s hands had gone. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Bucky’s own.

“Can’t ever trust those choir boy types to keep their hands to themselves,” he said.

“Aren’t you a minster’s son?” Bucky asked. 

Sam grinned and let his hands follow the path Steve’s own had taken. “Fair point.”

Bucky only answered with a harsh whisper of _fuck, fuck, fuck_.

********************

Sam had seen some of the most beautiful places in the world. He’d flown over the Cradle of Civilization in his wings and spent six months hiking the Appalachian Trail. He’d stumbled through parts of Scandinavia with Riley after they dared each other to go somewhere not-desert on leave. He’d walked the black sand beaches of Hawaii and drunkenly song Toto’s _Africa_ once when they’d taken a mission in Morocco. 

None of that really prepared for the sight of Bucky Barnes, mouth red and lips bitten raw, with eyes wide open in wonder and sweat plastering his hair to his face, arching his toned body up as Sam fucked into him slow and tender. Steve’s hands covered Sam’s own on Bucky’s hips, and his body was a warm contrast to the cool metal of Bucky’s arm as he gripped Sam’s forearm. Steve pressed a pattern of encouraging, soft kisses into Sam’s skin, from the top of his forehead, to his cheek, neck, shoulder, and in between his shoulder blades. He urged them both on in that calm, steady, cadence of his voice. That certainty of his touch was an anchor as Bucky and Sam both started to shake under him. 

“I like this new bed,” Steve said conversationally as he passed a bottle of water to Sam. He ran his fingers through the sweaty strands of Bucky’s hair and kissed him like he’d never have the chance again. 

“Thank Natasha,” Sam said. “It was her idea.”

Bucky turned from Steve to grab for Sam’s hand and press a kiss to his palm. “You’re the one who took a chance on both of us.”

“Jackasses who jump out of aircraft need to stick tougher, I suppose.” 

Steve gave him a speculative look. “Tired?”

“Not really,” Sam said.

“Sore?” he asked.

“Not yet,” he answered with a grin.

“Good,” Steve said as he slid from Bucky’s side over to Sam. He tapped the water bottle in Sam’s hands. “Drink up.”

“Want me to assume the position there, Captain?” he asked.

“Any way you want it,” Steve said. 

Sam put his water bottle on the nightstand and turned onto his stomach. He smiled at Bucky. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” Bucky said. His eyes moved to watch Sam get up on his knees. “What’s that song Natasha taught me? The one about big butts?

The bed shook for an entirely different reason as Sam buried his face in his arm and laughed. 

************

There was a chocolate cake with vanilla frosting on his desk the next morning. He thought it well within his rights to text Natasha and tell her what a creep she could be.

The cake _was_ delicious though.


	4. Chapter 4

Since Sam didn’t have a type of super-soldier serum or a death wish, on days when it was cold as hell and raining he ran an indoor track near Bethesda. More than a handful of fellow workers for the federal alphabet agencies could be found doing the same on such days, and Sam always found a few familiar faces in the crowd. He had just finished his warm-up when he saw one of his oldest jogging buddies.

“Antoine Triplett, where the hell have you been?”

Antoine grabbed his hand and gave his shoulder a pat. “Sam, you wouldn’t believe me even if you had the clearance for me to tell you.”

Sam thought of the past year of his life and shook his head. “Try me.”

“You still with the VA?” Antoine asked as they started their first lap.

Like Sam, Antoine had lost his partner in the line of duty. They’d shared a few beers and talked about it before, but Antoine seemed even more haunted than the last time they spoke. Sam knew it wasn’t his place to pry, but if Antoine needed someone to talk to—even if that person wasn’t Sam—he’d get it.

“Yeah, have my own office and everything. At least I get to use my degree for what it’s actually intended. You know I could give you a few names if you need them.”

Antoine shook his head. “They’d probably have me committed after the first session, but I’ve got a new CO and he might have some connections. I promise I’ll get to it, Dr. Wilson.”

“Not a doctor,” Sam said.

“Not yet,” Antoine argued. He stumbled suddenly and Sam reached out.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah just thought I saw something,” Antoine said. “Impossible.”

Sam looked over his shoulder and stopped. Bucky, Steve, and Natasha were coming up behind him. Two of them were grinning wide and the third was mysteriously amused. He held his arms out to stop them.

“If you two assholes even _attempt_ to say it, I will cut you both off and move in with Natasha.”

“I support this idea,” Natasha said. “It’ll get my neighbor to stop trying to set me up.”

“Oh, don’t like how it feels, do you?” Steve asked her.

“I’m not a hopeless cause,” Natasha said. 

Antoine tapped Sam’s shoulder. “Is that Captain America?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. 

“So when you said _try me_ , you weren’t just joking,” he said. He gave Sam an onceover. “All those nights out and you couldn’t have mentioned you were one of _those_ Pararescue Jumpers?”

“Classified,” Sam said. “Besides, you never mentioned you worked for—”

“Don’t say it,” Natasha said. “There are too many unknowns around.” She nodded at Triplett. “Hope you’re taking care of Phil.”

“Trying, ma’am,” he said.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Only one man is allowed to call me ma’am, Antoine, and it isn’t you.”

Bucky had moved to Sam’s other side and oh-so-casually laid his synthetic-skin-encased arm over Sam’s shoulder. “So, Antoine is it? How do you know our Sam?”

Steve ducked his head at the growled out _our_ , and Natasha smirked as Antoine took a step back. 

“He’s still being socialized,” Sam said. “You know how it is with those strays I take in. Jimmy here,” and Sam did not flinch at the pinch of metal fingers on his skin, “is a little overprotective.”

“Yeah, well, I’d be too if I’d come back from the proverbial dead and found something to hold onto. Captain Rogers, Sergeant, it’s an honor to meet you. I believe you knew my grandfather, Gabe.”

“Well, holy fucking shit,” Bucky said. “Looks like Sam’s sleeping his way up the chain of Howling Commandos and their descendants.”

“I didn’t sleep with Antione,” Sam said. “We’re just friends.”

“I’m taken,” Antione said.

Natasha frowned. “Pity. I promised Darcy I’d set her up with someone this week.”

“What is it with you and matchmaking?” Sam asked.

“Everyone needs a non-lethal hobby,” Natasha said. 

************

They all had their good days and bad days. Steve and Bucky both went quiet and still during the first frost of fall. Sam didn’t like fake cheer and politeness he was always forced to adopt on the anniversary of Riley’s death. He finally had people around him who wouldn’t pressure him to celebrate a life when he just wanted to mourn. Steve drove them to Arlington that day while Bucky let Sam rest against him in the back seat, and Natasha in the front to provide interference for anyone who tried to get in their way. 

Steve and Natasha had to leave for weeks at a time to clear up problems, while Sam continued his own work at the VA and Bucky plowed through the paperwork required in coming back to life. After the third straight month of Steve and Natasha being recalled to New York, Sam had had enough.

“We could move,” he said. “Keep this place as some sort of vacation home. I’m tired of being so far away when some shit goes down, and I could easily transfer up there. It’s not Bethesda, but I’m still a certified counselor.”

“This is our home though,” Steve said as he looked at all the pictures on the wall.

“I’m not going to give this plot of land up,” Sam said. “I own it outright and it’s ours. I’m not going to give up on you either, and if we need to be in New York so you can get shit done more effectively, then we’ll move.”

“You said there was a tower there,” Bucky said. “I could use a secure place for training again, just in case something goes wrong.” He gripped the back of Sam’s neck. “We’re agreed on this Steve. Natasha and Maria have already put us in contact with Ms. Potts. We’ll come back here for downtime, but keep our primary residence in New York.”

“I can’t ask you two to do this,” Steve said.

“You’re not asking,” Bucky said.

“We’re telling you,” Sam said. 

“Two-to-one,” Bucky said. “You’re overruled, Cap.”

Steve didn’t look too displeased at losing, but that could’ve had something to do with Bucky and Sam’s victory dance. 

“Did you practice that?” he asked.

“They did,” Natasha said as she came in through the window. “Nice try with the screens, Wilson. You need to nail it down better next time.”

“She’s going to do this once we move into that architectural monstrosity too, isn’t she?” Sam asked.

“ _She_ very much will,” Natasha said. “I’ll keep doing it until you stop flinching. Consider it a form of immersion therapy.” She took her rightful place at the kitchen table. “So, when’s the moving date?”

“Let Sam secure his job transfer, then we’ll see. I just got home though, and I’d like to stay for at least a week,” Steve said.

“And by saying that, you’ve just ruined it,” Natasha said. She gripped both Sam and Bucky on the shoulder. “I think we need to find you a better model.”

“Nothing beats the original,” Bucky said. 

Sam winked at Natasha. “I don’t know, Buck. I think Natasha here could be our alternate.”

“None of you could handle me,” Natasha said. 

Bucky was the first to laugh, then Steve, then Sam, and finally Natasha. 

Sam loved this house with its patriotic flowerboxes, birdhouse village, and fairy garden. He loved the pictures on the walls and the memories inside the rooms, but he loved the people sitting around his kitchen table the most. They were his new squad now, tied to him in different ways for different reasons, and as long as they stayed together, he figured they could muster on through somehow.


End file.
